


sharpshooter

by flysafepapi



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flysafepapi/pseuds/flysafepapi
Summary: Sometimes, everything gets muddled in his head. Never him, though.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Barney Thompson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from my tumblr of the same name

You’ve got to be good, to be able to do the things he does, take the shots from the distance he can manage them. That’s what they tell him, when they put a gun in his hands and tell him where to aim, and he doesn’t know if they’re right, but he never misses even if it takes hours, sometimes. Days, of laying in the mud, staring through the scope and waiting for the second the target drops their guard. It always happens eventually. Someone will grow complacent with the lack of shots, or lift their head at the wrong second, and he ushers in their death with the squeeze of a finger. You’ve got to be good.

“‘Bout time you joined us,” Tommy says when he makes it back with his rifle on his back and a week’s worth of mud dried over almost every inch of him, “The boys were beginning to think something happened to you.” 

“Had to wait the bastard out, but I got him.” 

Barney takes the bowl that Tommy holds out for him, even though he knows the food will be something he doesn’t want to ask about, and dips his head with a grin when Tommy smiles at him. It’s not a smile, really, more of a certain way his eyes change, but Barney’s good at seeing things from a distance, and that’s the Tommy Shelby equivalent of a smile, in this hell. 

“Never doubted you for a second.” Freddie claps him on the shoulder when he settles down next to him, grinning, and pulls Barney into the debate he’s having with Danny about some insignificant thing, purely to distract themselves from what’s going on around them. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but nods every so often whenever there’s a pause, and keeps his eyes on Tommy. Later, when he’s in the asylum, he’ll fight to keep those memories when everything else starts to get washed away by the drugs they force into him and the monotony. Later, remembering Tommy and the way he tilted his head back to the sky, eyes closed like he’s seeking forgiveness, is the only thing that keeps Barney warm during the winter nights. 

“Got anyone waiting for you, back at home?” 

He supposes it was only a matter of time, before conversation turned to this. It’s what usually happens, isn’t it, when you’re in a situation you might not make it back from? Barney shakes his head. “Got no family, never had time for anything else.” 

“Never had time? What, you’re telling me that there’s no one you’ve ever thought about?” He doesn’t glance at Tommy, he doesn’t. These men, they’re closer to him now than his brothers ever were, but admitting his perversions might cross the line and he can’t risk that. “No one you’ve ever wanted?”

“Plenty I wanted. Just never any that I wanted to keep.” Out the corner of his eye, he sees Tommy look at him, but he keeps his eyes on the empty bowl in his hands. It’s funny, when he thinks back on it, in a morbid, depressing kind of way. He’d trust these men with his life, but he could never tell them the truth of who he was out of fear. “I guess I’m waiting for the right one to come along.” 

He doesn’t say that the right one is two feet away, or that he’d follow the man to the ends of the earth just to see him smile once. A real smile, one that actually reached his eyes and lit up his face, not the sad facsimile he gives these days. 

He kisses Tommy, once, on a rare night where there’s no one to fight and they can relax for a few hours. In a village that he no longer remembers the name of, in the dark, with his hands on Tommy’s face. Only once, because anything else is asking for trouble, and he understands when Tommy looks at him with wide eyes and tells Barney that he can’t. He understands, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. 

It’s an odd thing, afterwards, when everything is over except for the days when he relives everything in his head all over again, to realise that while he’d trusted all of them with his life, it’s Tommy Shelby that’s got Barney’s cracked heart in his hands, even now when he’s alone with only the four walls for company. He still hears things, from the nurses or the doctors, and keeps careful track of Tommy’s rise from gangster to politician, of his wives and children. He’s glad, in a way, that Tommy’s not waiting for a man that doesn’t exist anymore. 

But he still wishes he’d said something, all those years ago, when Freddie asked him if he’d had someone waiting for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Barney is a sniper. Tommy knows that. He’s got endless patience, staying focused for hours, days even, before he gets the opportunity to take his shot. He can lay unmoving for hours, waiting, not shifting a muscle aside from his fingers. They’ve been hunting together, on the rare occasion that they feel like it. He’s seen how Barney can spend countless hours hidden, waiting for the animals to come close enough. He’s never missed a target. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the same focus that makes him so good at his job would translate over into the bedroom, but it does. 

He tries to pull away, but the rope around his wrists is tied too well, and the grip Barney has on it is too strong. There’s no slack to work with, not the slightest gap he can use to slip out of. His fidgeting doesn’t go unnoticed. The sound that escapes him when Barney laughs in his ear, low and amused, isn’t a whimper and he’ll deny it if anyone asks. Apart from the patience, another side effect of being a sniper is how good Barney’s aim is, and he gives it a pretty convincing demonstration with the fingers that curve up and press against Tommy’s prostate. 

“Always been impatient, Tom. Does it kill you, all this waiting?” He opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a long, low groan when Barney’s arm tightens around his waist, pulling him back into the slow movement of the fingers inside him. “All you have to do is ask.” 

“Please do something.” He’ll also never admit how much it pains him to say those words. How long has it been? An hour? Two? He doesn’t know, he lost count long ago, around the time Barney was carefully leaving a line of bite marks and bruises down his stomach and over his hips. Or maybe the deep scratches up and down his back. Everything is mixed together, at this point. 

“Is that the best you can do?”

Where was the normal, somewhat reserved Barney? Because this man behind him, biting down on his shoulder as he drags his fingers out and presses himself in is someone different entirely. He loves it, and he hates it. 

“Come on, baby, let me hear you.”

The fabric of the couch scrapes against his hands when he tips forward, finally let out of the rigid position he’s been in for the last however long, and he grabs it like it’s a lifeline. As much as he can with his hands bound together, anyway. Barney follows him down, plastering himself against Tommy’s back, reaching around him to curl their fingers together. 

“I want you to tell me how much you love it so loud that the neighbours hate us.”

He can’t stop the shout that punches out of him when Barney pulls back and slams forward again, driving him further into the cushions, almost embarrassingly loud. Okay, so he’s not the quietest person ever, but he’s never been that volume. Apparently this is a night for more than one new experience. In this position, held tight by the free arm Barney’s got around his middle, he can’t do anything but try to keep his knees from sliding further open, and take whatever Barney gives him. The feeling of being at someone else’s mercy makes him shiver. 

“Barney, please, I can’t- Not like this, you have to touch me.” 

“No.” His voice is barely more than a rumble in Tommy’s ear. “If you want to cum, you do it with just this, or not at all.” He tightens his fingers around Tommy’s, keeping them pinned to the back of the couch, and Tommy hates him. At least, until the next thrust, then every thought gets driven out of his mind. “I know you can. Just like this.” 

He shakes his head, but his husband is a cruel torment, and refuses to let him go. 

“I’ve got you. Trust me.” 

Trying to pull his hands away only gets him a harsh bite to the back of his neck, drawing blood, and he hates the way he whines at the flash of pain and tilts his head to the side for more. Barney’s other hand, the one holding him around the middle, digs into his skin and he just knows he’ll have scratches there in the morning too. It’ll be difficult enough, covering them up so no one sees. He hopes they take as long as possible to fade. 

“Fuck, please, I need-” 

For as long as he’s been on the edge, it’s actually a surprise that it hasn’t happened sooner. Behind him, like the evil mastermind he is, Barney hums and shifts, until he’s got one knee on the cushions and his other foot on the floor, and Tommy isn’t surprised in the least that the next push of his hips hits just the right spot. All of it, the teeth digging into his skin, the nails doing the same, keeps him dangling on the edge, so close but not enough. Until Barney drifts his hand down, taking pity on him, and curls fingers around his cock. He doesn’t even move his hand, doesn’t have to do anything other than whisper “Now, Tommy,” and that’s it, he’s done. 

It’s less of a tip over the edge and more like being thrown over, whiting his brain out, and by the time he comes back to himself, he’s been moved to lay on the couch, thankfully clean, he’s sweaty but clean too, and the rope is gone. Barney kneels next to him, looking at him curiously and with not a small amount of amusement. 

“Welcome back. You were out for a bit.” 

“I think you broke me. Where the fuck did that come from?” 

Barney shrugs and grins, looking more like the man Tommy remembers. “Thought I’d try out something new.”

“We’re definitely doing that again.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Alright, we’re not going to chase any of the other dogs today, yeah?” Sam looks up at Barney with his big brown eyes, but Barney’s not going to be fooled again. Especially after the last time, when he’d had to pull his overzealous dog out of a bush after he’d decided to chase a bird. “It’s just going to be a nice, relaxing day at the park, and if you’re good we’ll pick up treats.” He nods, as if Sam can understand him, and picks him up to clip the leash onto his harness. He’s been sitting next to the door for the last twenty minutes, waiting for his walk. 

As soon as he steps out the door, he sees Mrs Henson that lives next door standing in front of her own door, and ignores the dirty look she sends him when Sam darts out the door behind him. Sam’s a perfectly good dog, never barks, so he doesn’t know what her issue with him is, but it’s easy enough to ignore as he walks past her, digging his phone out of his pocket. It might have something to do with the way he disappears for weeks at a time, always irregularly, never with more than a day or two of warning beforehand. This is the third apartment complex he’s lived in in as many years, and there seems to always be one neighbour that starts to suspect him of being a spy. 

If only they knew what he was really doing on those trips. 

“Hey, slow down. Sam!” The phone in his hand starts buzzing at the same time that his annoying, adorable dog pulls at the leash and almost rips it out of Barney’s other hand, so he has to fumble the old flip phone open while he tries to call Sam back. He knows who’s calling, there’s only two people that have the number for the phone he uses for business, and only one of them ever calls. “It’s a bit early for you to be awake, isn’t it? How’s the hangover?” The groan that echoes down the phone makes him laugh. 

“Why are you awake, didn’t you just get back last night?”

Thankfully, the dog park isn’t far from the new apartment, so he can focus on the rant his sister is spouting into his ear while he walks. He’s only got to stop twice for Sam to mark his territory, which is better than the last time when he’d had to stop about a dozen times. It’s not early at all, almost lunchtime, but he’s well acquainted with his little sister’s habit of staying up all night and sleeping the day away. 

“Unlike you, I actually go out and do adult things. You know, like grocery shopping, taking Sam on walks, that kind of thing.” 

“And yet, how long has it been since you had a date?”

“Two years, and I keep telling you, I’m fine on my own. Plus, it’s pretty hard to hide what you do for a living from someone you’re dating and I can’t be bothered going through that again.” 

“You just need to find someone that isn’t such a pussy then. I told you that Chris was weak, but did you listen to me? No, because you were too preoccupied with his dumb, pretty face.” 

Laura’s got a point, but he’s never going to tell her that. When he looked back on it, that relationship had been a disaster from start to finish. He’s pretty sure that you’re not supposed to feel relief when someone breaks up with you, but there it was. Honestly, he was more worried about being arrested again. Prison didn’t agree with him, and finding a way to break out was such a hassle. 

“There’s this guy I work with, and-”

“Absolutely not. No offence, but I don’t trust you to set me up with anyone. I’d rather call Chris and beg him to take me back.” Barney can practically sense the way her nose wrinkles at that. 

“Please don’t. I can’t handle pretending to be nice to him again.” 

Barney bends down to reach for Sam, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he unclips the leash and watches Sam take off like a shot. The park’s fenced in, so he’s not worried when Sam quickly disappears behind some trees, and spots a bench not too far away. He’s almost halfway there, and in the middle of telling Laura that she’s never nice to any of his dates, when something big slams into the back of his legs and knocks him over. 

“Shit, fuck. Are you okay? Sorry about that, he gets excited around people.” 

It takes him a few seconds to brush himself off, and get back to his feet, and he sees that the large something that slammed into him is a dog. An adorable dog, with big eyes and a wildly wagging tail, and he kind of wants to cuddle it. He’s always had a weakness for animals. He laughs a little when the dog leans into his touch like a cat, tilting it’s head back for scratches that he gladly gives, not even annoyed at the grass stains on his jeans anymore. How could he be, in the face of this adorable creature? 

“Nah, it’s alright, I don’t mind. Never apologise for your dog wanting to play with me, I never don’t want to play with dogs.” 

He lifts his head when the person on the other end of the leash holding his furry assailant laughs, and freezes. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s still got Laura on the line, and that he’s staring like a creep, but he can’t help it. The man is beautiful. He’s sort of caught on the extreme blue of his eyes, so that’s his excuse when he blurts out “Jesus Christ, you’re gorgeous” without meaning to. He can blame it on a concussion from the fall or something, right?

It gets him another laugh, and he absolutely doesn’t grin because that laugh is adorable and he’d like to hear more of it. 

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” 

Don’t say something stupid, Barney, be a normal person.

“If I say no, are you going to be my nurse?”

Fucking hell, if the ground could open up right now and swallow him, that’d be great. 

“Please pretend I never said that, and we can introduce ourselves like normal people instead. Hey, I’m the guy that just got ran over by your adorable dog, my name’s Barney.” Are handshakes a thing that people still do? He holds his hand out anyway, and is way too pleased when the vision in front of him takes it, grinning. For a second, he wonders if his hands are too sweaty, and if the calluses on his palms from his rifle are too noticeable, but pushes all those thoughts to the back of his mind. 

“Barney. I’m Tommy, and the exuberant ball of fur is Cyril.”

“Nice to meet you,” Barney says, but what he really means is “I am going to marry you one day.”


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s your turn,” Barney hears, and rolls over with a groan to glance at the clock. The red letters shine in the darkness and he drops his head back into the pillow when he sees that it’s too close to 4am for his liking, but he sits up all the same and shuffles out of the bedroom, wiping his eyes. He doesn’t need to turn any lights on, he’s already got the layout of the house memorised, but he turns the lamp on before he reaches down and picks up the squirming baby, grinning when strong tiny fingers curl into his shirt. 

“Yeah, I know, you’re hungry. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He knows that his words aren’t being understood, but he likes the way those wide blue eyes look up at him like they are. “Thank god you’re almost sleeping through the night, huh? We all need sleep, don’t we? Makes your dad cranky.” Barney laughs to himself, when he steps into the kitchen, and his talking is answered with a tiny hand slamming into his chest. “That’s right, he’s naughty, isn’t he?” It’s comforting, to keep up the stream of talk while he goes about making up the bottle, filling the silence with the babbles and coos that answer him. It’s almost like they’re having a conversation, although one where neither of them understand a word the other one is saying. 

“It’s good you’ve never been a fussy baby, little one, I don’t think I could handle it if you were.” 

He thinks about going back upstairs, but the couch is right there and he’s too tired to walk back up all the stairs. It’s easier to just sink into the cushions and nestle the giggling baby in his left arm, holding the bottle with his right. It’s probably unnecessary at this point, but he’d rather not get covered in milk if the bottle gets dropped. A few times, small hands try to yank the bottle away, and he laughs. 

“Hey. Just like your dad, always have to do things by yourself, don’t you?” 

He lapses back into silence, just watching the milk steadily disappear from the bottle. It had terrified him, the first time they’d brought the baby home. He didn’t know a thing about looking after a baby, and there was a million reasons to say no. What if the baby got hurt because of what he and Tommy did, what if he couldn’t anticipate a panic attack fast enough and ended up doing something horrible, what if the baby hated him? Okay, so some of the reasons were irrational, but the majority of them legitimately kept him up at night. It’d taken him a week to even pick the tiny human up, and even then it had been because Tommy had all but shoved the baby into his arms. 

“All done?” The bottle gets left on the coffee table, pushed back far enough from the edge that it won’t fall, and it’s easy now to shift until he’s laying on the couch with a small body laying on his chest. He feels tiny fingers pinching at him, but it’s nothing he can’t handle, and starts humming the lullaby he always sings. He doesn’t remember the name of it, but it’s something that his own mother used to sing to him, years and years ago. 

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep halfway through his third repetition, but it’s getting harder to keep his eyes open, and the couch is comfortable. Of course it is, that’s why he chose it. 

“Barney.”

“Mm?”

“You’re going to be late for work if you don’t wake up.”

Blinking his eyes open feels like the hardest thing in the universe to do, but it’s worth it to see Tommy grinning down at him with two cups of coffee, already fully dressed. “What time ‘s it?”

“Almost nine. I would’ve woken you up half an hour ago, but you two looked too adorable.”

He just knows, even without asking, that there’s a photo taken of their unplanned nap somewhere in the phone that Tommy never lets out of his sight. At this point, he’s probably got thousands. 

“Shit. I’ve gotta go, or your sister’s going to use my guts for wedding decorations.” 

Tommy follows him back into the bedroom, watching him get dressed quicker than he’s ever done in his life. 

“Okay, I’ll see you later? Remember, the play group is at ten, and-”

“I’ve got it, I can look after kids.” 

Barney shrugs. “Just making sure.” He’s almost to the door before Tommy speaks again. 

“Forgetting something, Thompson?”

Five minutes later, he pulls back from where he’s got Tommy half pinned to the couch. “You’re a horrible distraction and I hate you.”


End file.
